When he'd woken this morning, her soft limbs entangled with his, he had spent long minutes simply gazing at her in wonder. Her lips were a dark pink and parted softly, and her eyelashes lay against her cheeks like moth wings. She was beautiful and she was determined and he hadn't thought that marriage to her would result in this intimacy. He'd wanted her near, true, for he was a selfish, wicked man, and he didn't particularly like the dark that he lived in. She was to be company- nothing more. But it seemed he'd deceived himself, both about the power of her lure and about his own savage desires. The last thought made him uneasy. Had he frightened her? Had his lovemaking over the last two nights been too... carnal? Too crude for her? He grimaced, looking away from her. He hadn't much experience with gentle ladies, truth be told. Not with a face like his. Not with a past like his. When his baser instincts could no longer be put off, he bought his relief. But if he shocked or repulsed Iris, perhaps that was for the best. She wouldn't be so quick to seek him again, which should make his own resistance easier. Except that even now he found himself leaning infinitesimally toward her as if his body, having once tasted of her fruit, now not only understood hunger, but could be satiated by her and her alone.